


Itch to Scratch

by katieshelby



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27066913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieshelby/pseuds/katieshelby
Summary: You’re a new teacher to Forks and you meet Officer Swan. A fluffy drabble  I wrote as a joke for a friend.
Relationships: Charlie Swan/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 20





	Itch to Scratch

You pulled the front door of the Forks Police Department open. Striding to the front desk with a purpose, you were greeted by the older woman manning the desk.    
“Hello, I need to file a report,” you said shakily. “I’ve been burgled.”   
“Alright, dear. I’m going to have you sit with an officer to take your statement. Just sit tight, he’ll be just a moment.” The woman reached across the desk and patted your elbow before disappearing into the back of the station.    
You were new to the Forks area. After you graduated from university with a degree in education, you took a job at Forks High School. You’ve only been settled in your apartment for a few months and had just put more personal touches on it, but when you’d walked in this evening it was clear someone had been there rifling through your things. You quickly left your place and headed to the police station.    
As you pulled at the hems of your sweater sleeves, a mustachioed officer emerged from the depths of the station.    
“Miss, my name is Charlie Swan. I understand there’s been some sort of incident.” The man gave off a very comforting aura and it began putting you at ease. Officer Swan led you to a conference room and you detailed what you had seen at your apartment.    
“I’m going to suggest we go to your apartment and see if anything is missing and secure the scene.”   
“That would be fine, I didn’t stick around because I wasn’t sure if someone was there or not. I didn’t feel safe and I wasn’t sure what to do.”   
“No, no. You did the right thing. I’ll follow you over in my squad car and escort you in. If you still don’t feel safe we can make arrangements for you to stay somewhere else for a bit.”   
After arriving at your apartment complex Officer Swan opened your apartment and looked it over before letting you enter. The two of you went over your belongings and determined that there was just some cash and jewelry missing.    
“Do you think you’ll be okay here alone?” the human embodiment of a mustache asked, cocking his equally bushy eyebrow.    
You smiled warmly at him. “I trust you. If you think it’s safe, then I’ll stay.” Truthfully, you were still slightly wary but didn’t want to make a fuss.    
Swan sighed, “Alright. Well we’ll get started on this right away. From the information I’ve gathered it’s probably just some punk kid. I wouldn’t worry about anyone coming back.” He made his way to the door and turned back toward you. “Look, I’m going to come back tomorrow morning and install a better lock. This one... your landlord is sloppy. Here’s my number if you have any problems before then.” He handed you a card with a number scribbled on it.    
  
As you readied for bed you thought more about the police chief. He seemed competent and sure of himself, but not in a cocky way. But there was something else. You couldn’t quite name it but there was something else about him. And his mustache while almost comical suited him nicely.   
You left your bedroom light on as you climbed into bed, your college softball bat laying in bed with you. Some company, you thought. After a few hours you finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.    
  
At quarter after nine there was a knock on your door that made you jump, right before you remembered officer Swan was coming. You peeked into the peephole before letting him in. He was dressed in casual clothes instead of his uniform. Jeans and a red plaid shirt, clutching a hardware store bag and a toolbox. He looked good, more approachable.    
“I, uh, have some coffee going if you’d like some,” you offered, making your way to the small kitchenette area.    
“That would be great. There were a couple options at the hardware store so I got two locks. You should really tell your landlord about this, he’s slacking on his duties,” he chuckled.    
You handed him a mug of coffee, “And I can’t thank you enough, Offic-“   
“Charlie. You can call me Charlie, it’s alright.”   
You nodded and smiled with appreciation. As Charlie worked on the locks, you sat on the floor next to the door holding your mugs, handing him his when he searched for a sip. You talked about your jobs, local eateries, and the search for the criminal. You’d each had two cups of coffee by the time Charlie finished with the locks and shut the door.    
“That should be good. I feel much better about you staying here now.” Charlie quickly added, “Not that it wasn’t safe before but... I just don’t like the idea of someone feeling vulnerable.”   
“I know. Thank you so much. This was above and beyond your duty.” You squeezed Charlie’s forearm in gratitude. His arm was strong and his flannel was soft.    
“Don’t worry about it. You make a great cup of coffee,” Charlie picked up his toolbox and opened the door to leave.    
You shifted your weight from foot to foot, feeling anxious all of a sudden. “Well, feel free to come have another one any time. Not just when I’ve been the victim of a crime,” you said with a bit of a laugh.    
Charlie laughed with you and shifted his grip on the toolbox, managing the weight. The slight laughter died and the air was filled with a pregnant pause.    
You quickly reached forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Well thanks! Drive safely!”   
Charlie’s cheeks reddened and he stepped over the threshold into the hall. “See you around. Be careful.”   
You shut the door as he walked down the hall. The spot on your cheek where his mustache had brushed itched, but you refused to scratch it as a punishment for your inappropriateness. You stared at the closed door, overthinking your actions.    
Your cell phone vibrated on the table, jarring you from your reverie. Snatching it up, you saw a text message from a number you had just programmed in yesterday.    
“I think I’ll need a cup of coffee tomorrow, I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight.”   
While pondering a response, your hand reached up to your cheek and scratched the tickling spot on your cheek.


End file.
